As it loses its mate to a storm
As it flutters by me, it's wings
Touching me, bringing winds warm.
I drop it a morsel of food,
Its feathers are dripping and cold,
Water it does not need, it would do
With something chewy and cold.
The crow swooshes in line
To meet all its needs with roti.
What a day that I felt the
Sweet cawing of a crow.
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